


practica

by besselfcn



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: F/M, First Time, an 18 year old healthy man trying his best, post trk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21886768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besselfcn/pseuds/besselfcn
Summary: In a bed and breakfast somewhere in the vicinity of Duluth, Minnesota, Blue sits up with a hand on Gansey’s chest and says, “I think we should have sex.”
Relationships: Richard Gansey III/Blue Sargent
Comments: 12
Kudos: 154





	practica

**Author's Note:**

> after my bllb reread (aka: 300 pages of nerdy phone-based foreplay) i could not stop thinking about how adorably, hilariously awkward their first time would be, so Here Is That

In a bed and breakfast somewhere in the vicinity of Duluth, Minnesota, Blue sits up with a hand on Gansey’s chest and says, “I think we should have sex.”

Gansey blinks at her. He lets the words settle into his brain, so that he can hear them properly. No; they’re the same the second time around. 

“Oh,” he says, feeling suddenly very stupid. “Right now?”

She smacks the center of his chest. This feels much more reasonable. “Yes, right now,” she says, with that air of false confidence she so loves to wear. “I think we should. I think it would be fun.”

He can see her resisting the urge to blush. This is not typically something a person can resist, but Blue is not a typical person. 

“I think so too,” Gansey says, but his mind is still playing Blue’s first sentence on a loop, so it’s hard to tell how it comes out. “I… have you been thinking about this?”

“Have you not been?” she counters. 

A skillful parry. He yields. 

“Okay,” he says. “Yes. Okay. How do we-- I mean, where does one start--”

“God, you are so fucking _weird_ ,” she says, and leans over to kiss him. 

This he can do. This feels familiar; it feels forbidden. It feels natural; it feels terrifying. He spent so long thinking _don’t, don’t, don’t_ that some version of that fear plays in his mind every time her mouth touches his. But it doesn’t make it worse--somehow it heightens it, the feeling of it, the feeling of her. 

She pulls back for a minute, and pulls off her shirt. This should not feel new. He’s watched her get dressed before. He’s seen her swim. That was as much or more skin as now. 

How much more skin that feels when she’s halfway on top of him, though.

“You should too,” she says. He realizes she’s talking about his shirt. “Fair’s fair.”

“Oh, alright,” he says. He gently nudges her aside so he can stand. He strips off his shirt and leaves it carefully in the hamper. After a moment of collecting his thoughts and his remaining scraps of bravery, he steps out of his pajama pants as well. 

Blue is staring at him when he turns back around. It’s incendiary. 

“Good,” she tells him. “Come back here.”

It goes on like this; bits of clothing removed at a time, slow and hesitant and _is this okay? Is this too fast?_ and it feels not nearly fast enough, anticipation thrumming at Gansey’s throat as Blue kicks her underwear off and watches it go sailing across the room before climbing back onto the bed. 

“Um,” he says, because he is suddenly very, very aware of how there are no longer any layers separating the two of them. “I didn’t pack for… this sort of activity.”

“Oh, right,” Blue says. She scrambles to where she has discarded her little purse-backpack and retrieves a small box. “I picked them up when we stopped for gas last time.”

Gansey has a sudden, sharp memory of Blue telling him _I’ll just be right back_ and running into the convenience store while he filled the Pig, and of the look on her face when she returned that did not seem to match the package of beef jerky she had purchased while inside. 

“You’re very forward-thinking, Jane,” he tells her. 

“Put this on your dick, Dick,” she says. She seems proud of herself. He is rather proud of her. 

He fumbles with the condom for a few moments; he hopes very badly that he has put it on correctly. It doesn’t seem like the sort of thing you could mess up, but he vaguely remembers being told a variety of ways in which you could mess up. Aglionby’s health curriculum was plenty thorough, but having Ronan Lynch sitting beside him adding color commentary had not helped his retention of the subject matter. 

He realizes he is thinking about Ronan Lynch while his girlfriend stands naked in front of him waiting patiently for him to get on with things. He thinks perhaps this is what people mean when they call him _so fucking weird_. 

“Okay,” he says. “Come back here, it’s very cold.”

Blue laughs; she jumps back onto the bed and straddles him again, one knee on either side of his thigh. She seems to be contemplating something for a moment. 

She lowers herself down onto him then, until she’s pressed against his thigh. She feels warm and wet. Oh. Oh. 

Once when he was younger he jammed one of his EpiPens into his leg, just to prepare himself for what it’d feel like if he’d ever need to do it. This feels dangerously similar. His heart is fairly liable to burst. He certainly feels like he is narrowly escaping dying. 

“Gansey,” Blue says. He has only heard that voice of hers a couple of times. It still rocks him. “You should touch me.”

This is a very easy direction to follow. His hands were already aching for it.

He touches her sides, her stomach. He slides his hands down to her thighs. Between them. She makes a little gasping sound. He wants to hear it again, and again, and again. 

She directs him. It’s clumsy; he pulls her forward a bit to get a better angle, but he is still terribly blind at this, and it takes her many times of telling him, “No, no, not _there_ \--ow, _gentle_ \--it’s further back than that, god, have you never, well of _course_ you haven’t, but--oh! Okay!”

Okay!

He has only the vaguest idea of what he’s supposed to be doing now. He curls his fingers experimentally; she seems to like that. He sits up a bit, pulls her in closer; she certainly likes that. His brain is always, always, always moving, solving, connecting, but he lets himself just _feel_ this, just for a moment. 

Blue says, “Hold on, let me lay down,” so he obliges. 

She looks up at him. He looks down at her.

“You’re really quite beautiful,” he says, because it’s true, and it seems important that she knows this. 

Blue grins. “You should fuck me now,” she says. 

The curse was never lifted, Gansey thinks. This girl is going to kill me. 

“You,” Gansey begins to say, but he sputters out, and she laughs and laughs so much that he thinks she said _that_ just to make him do _this_. 

He--tries. 

It is more difficult than either of them were anticipating. Blue insists that this should work, it’s how they always show it on television, so it _must_ be simple enough and they can figure it out; Gansey tells her it does not seem possible, geometrically, at this present moment; Blue tells him with biting force that maybe his dick is just really weird, like he’s got some sort of problem with the angle and he should see a doctor; Gansey tells her he can put it away, if she’d rather not deal with such a medical malady at the moment, since this doesn’t seem the time. 

“Shut up,” she says. “Just you lay down instead.”

He does, and she fusses for a moment more while looking very determined, and then all at once their hips are pressed together and Blue has a look on her face that seems to think it should be pain but hasn’t quite gotten there and Gansey has no idea what the look on his face must be because he has left this mortal realm.

“Are you alright?” he asks, though, because it’s still polite to check up on your girlfriend from outside this mortal realm. 

She nods. She doesn’t talk, though. 

“Are you sure?” he says.

“Shut up,” she tells him again. “Give me a minute.”

After a minute, she moves, cautiously. Gansey would very much like her to be less cautious. 

“Okay,” she says. “Okay,” and they find a rhythm together, quiet and hesitant. 

Gansey almost forgets what the end goal of this is supposed to be. It’s enough to have Blue here, like this. It’s enough to listen to how she sounds when she breathes. It’s enough to share space with her, to breathe with her, to watch how she moves with him. She is a miracle. They are both miracles. 

She says, suddenly, “Oh,” in surprise, and then again: “Oh.”

Then she is shaking, head tipped back, and he can feel everywhere they are touching how her orgasm moves through her, and he thinks, _oh, right, this is what all the fuss is about._

“Holy shit,” she says, and just braces herself against the bed for a moment, breathing. Gansey does not move. He tries very much not to breathe. It feels like it might ruin this precious moment. 

Then Blue sits back up and puts on her Determined face. “Okay,” she says, “Your turn,” and she moves again.

It is a rather short turn, all things considered. 

At the end, when they’re done and Gansey has disposed of the condom (which seems to have done its job, he hopes, so he’s fairly confident he figured it out after all) and Blue has taken a very rapid shower and they are lying side by side in a little hotel room on a mattress which is softer than any Blue has ever owned and rougher than any Gansey has ever owned, Blue stretches out her hand to intertwine with his. 

“That was fun,” she says. “We should do it again sometime.”

“Half past four tomorrow afternoon?” Gansey asks, mostly as a joke, but he is already considering setting an alarm.

“I can make that work,” Blue agrees. Gansey nods.

Definitely setting an alarm. 


End file.
